


Poetry in Motion

by Miss_Writers_Block



Series: Everybody Loves Ciel [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: BAMF Ciel Phantomhive, Ciel Secretly Loves Poetry, Crossdressing, Flashbacks, Love Poems, Love at First Sight, M/M, Oh and Redmond has a danger kink, Prefect 4 - Freeform, Rare Pairings, Weston School Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Writers_Block/pseuds/Miss_Writers_Block
Summary: The P4 have just met Ciel, but Redmond realizes he's seen those pretty blue eyes before, on the face of a young maiden he met at one of Uncle Aleistor's End of Season Soiree's.





	Poetry in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two of my Everybody Loves Ciel Series

Edgar was having a great day. First, he had woken up before the warden had arrived, feeling refreshed and well-rested, and was able to spend an extra few moments reading out of his favorite book of poems. Second, sweet Maurice had managed to get the coffee stain out of his favorite scarlet colored waistcoat and he was wearing that and the matching silk ribbon as well. Third, his absolute favorite pastries were being served that morning with breakfast. And finally, he had managed to pull Violet from his cave-like studio in time for morning rounds.

 

This was why, when he spotted a boy taking a forbidden step onto the lawns he approached with a benevolent heart, intent upon informing the obviously new student of the error of his ways without resorting to punishment.

 

But when his eyes met the beautiful deep blue ones of the student he was struck by a memory from nearly nine months ago, at a party that his Uncle Aleistor had thrown to commemorate the end of the Season.

 

~ ( O ) ~

 

Edgar was having a truly awful day. First, his annoying little brother had woken him up at an ungodly hour, insisting on Edgar’s participation in a mindless card game. Second, he had to attend lessons from practically dawn till dusk, and not one of them were about poetry or literature, how dull. Then right before Uncle Aleistor’s party, his favorite jacket got caught on a stray nail and ripped clear across the inseam. He had to resort to his slightly less brilliant red blazer and thus could not find a ribbon to match and could not pull his hair back in the customary way.

 

So needless to say, he was not in a great mood by the time his parent’s coach pulled up to the party. And although he tried to put on a pleasant face for all the beautiful ladies mingling around, his heart was not into it.

   

“My dear Edgar,” called a voice to his left.

   

“Uncle Aleistor.”

   

“Lovely boy, whatever is the matter? You’ve not been yourself all evening!”

   

“I’ve just had a rough day Uncle, but I am much better now that I am here. And let me just say that this ball is simply marvelous.”

   

Aleistor practically swooned, promptly dismissing his previous concerns. “Oh my dear, you say such wonderful things! I have done very well with this little soiree haven’t I? Truly a fabulous and fitting end to a stupendous and profitable Season!”

   

Edgar smiled at his beloved Uncle and was about to reply when a flash of petal pink caught his eye. Over Aleistor’s shoulder he could see a maiden clad in a stylish gown the color of blush with wicked black accents framing every delicate curve of her slim build. Before he could see her face, she disappeared into the crowd. A sudden swell of panic filled his chest and he knew that if he did not meet this maiden, he would have missed a great opportunity and will regret it for the rest of his life. He quickly but politely said his goodbyes to his Uncle and pursued his elusive blossom.

   

He searched all the usual places where young ladies gather but his blossom was not among them, so he looked in the unusual places, finding his blossom more and more intriguing with every glimpse of pink silk or curled slate grey hair.

   

He finally cornered her in the smoking room, empty except for the two of them. She was facing the large window and her slim silhouette framed by the night sky was breathtaking. As he approached, he could see that she was quite a bit shorter than him and at least a few years younger.

   

“My Lady, I…” he started, reaching out to take hold of her dainty little fingers, ready to place a kiss upon her knuckles, when he felt the hard edge of something press against his sternum. He looked down to find the tip of his blossom’s folding fan, lacy and black with its tines made out of steel and sharpened like the edge of a razor. A flash of fear and arousal shot through his body. His blossom had _thorns_! Looking up again allowed him to see his blossom’s face for the first time and he could feel himself falling under a love spell the likes of which even Shakespeare would have trouble finding words for.

   

A porcelain like complexion, prominent collarbones perfect for displaying precious gems, a swan-like neck ready for his love-bites, demure little ears with perfectly round lobes containing studs of pure sapphire, a youthful face, pouty, berry colored lips pulled into a delicate sneer, an aristocratic nose slightly upturned in disdain, and beautifully large dual-colored deep blue and violet eyes narrowed in cold anger.   

   

“Why are you following me?” His blossom spoke in a sensual alto, deeper and darker than most girls her age.

   

For the first time in his life, words failed him, so he fell back onto familiar territory. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day / Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’”

   

His blossom huffed but lowered her weapon, deeming him harmless for now. “Oh my, Shakespeare? That sonnet has been used so much it’s a cliche now. ‘She dwelt among the untrodden ways / Beside the springs of Dove, / A Maid whom there were none to praise / and very few to love:’. If you must subject me to poetry, at least choose someone interesting.”

   

Edgar sighed, his heart fluttering with delight. His blossom was perfect in every way, both beautiful and intelligent. “Oh blossom, William Wordsworth has never sounded so sweet. ‘A violet by a mossy stone / Half hidden from the eye! / Fair as a star, when only one / Is shining in the sky.’ And what should I call you, shining star?”

   

His blossom let out an indelicate little snort, one dainty hand coming up to cover her mouth. She was so ruthlessly cruel and wicked and was not like any other lady he had ever met before in his life. “You may call me nothing, for nothing is what I am to you, good sir. We will surely never meet again. ‘She lived unknown, and few could know / When Lucy ceased to be; / But she is in her grave, and oh, / The difference to me!’”

   

She swiftly turned from him, her skirts swaying with her movements, and as she passed him he could feel her silky hair brush against his hand. Her perfume was not fruity or flowery like other women’s but a pleasant scent nonetheless, both bitter and sweet, like dark chocolate. And he was about to turn and beg for a few more scraps of her attention when he felt a sting on the side of his neck. Her fan was at his throat!

   

He hardly dared to move, let alone breathe.

   

“Oh, and Shakespeare? Don’t follow me again, not unless you want to meet an untimely end.” The fan made a dangerous snapping sound as it closed, the edge catching a few strands of his hair and easily slicing through them.

   

When he heard the sound of the door closing his body failed him, the tension releasing him so suddenly that he collapsed to his knees. He clutched at his chest, over the rapid beating of his heart, and took in great lungfuls of air.

   

“I must…” he panted, “I must have her.”

 

~ (O) ~

 

He rapidly pulled himself from his memories, using the time it took to adjust the boy’s tie to compose himself. Could it be, that this cute little first year was his blossom? It wasn’t hard to imagine, despite the fact that he was obviously a male, but still quite lovely. But he had to be sure, or else this whole thing could end in disaster and embarrassment for the both of them.

   

“Your tie was crooked,” he leaned down with the pretense of adjusting the collar, “my blossom…” He could feel the startled intake of breath that the boy made against the exposed part of his neck.

   

Shifting his eyes to the side afforded Edgar with the perfect view of the flash of fear and panic in the beauty’s eyes. But when he pulled back, the expression had shifted into one of thinly veiled anger and disdain. Edgar grinned in victory, not bothering to hide his attraction. He had finally found his blossom.

   

“So what’s your name? What should I call you?”

   

His blossom frowned, but answered despite his obvious reluctance. “Phantomhive, Ciel Phantomhive.”

   

“Oh? A beautiful name for a beautiful boy.” He reached out and brushed his fingers over the side of Ciel’s neck. “Look out from now on, Phantomhive, I’ll be watching you.” Edgar took one last look at his blossom before turning away. And as he walked away with his fellow prefects only one thought dominated his mind. _I will have him._

**Author's Note:**

> Poems Quoted  
> "Sonnet 18" by William Shakespeare  
> The Second of "The Lucy Poems" by William Wordsworth


End file.
